The Fall of Tortall
by Nolee of Stone Mountain
Summary: Shattered hearts. Failed courage. Black lightning. The final battle between Tortall and Scanra rages on. One-shot. KN. The fall of Tortall is at hand...


They were in the thick of battle.

Both Tortallan and Scanran knew it would be the last. Each knew it and each wanted victory – so they fought harder and fiercer than ever before. Swords clashed with deadly fury. All around were the cries of hurt and dying, and the battle cries of war. Nothing made sense anymore – and to many, nothing ever would again.

The glaive was a silver shrieking blur as it whirred through the air and hacked through armor, severing heads and limbs. Blood covered both the raging strawberry gelding and his rider, whose hazel green eyes blazed through the helm she wore upon her battle-born head. Beside her fought a man, in his late forties, his mighty sword matching her glaive in destruction. When a small break in battle came, as the Scanrans retreated for further orders, the lady knight paused, shaking her limbs to rid herself of any cramps and sweat. The knight beside her glanced over, giving her the warmest of smiles. He went without a helm, the reckless fool, and so she could see his features clearly. Emerald eyes, wild with war but calm with tenderness, disheveled light brown hair, laced thinly with the most elegant of silver, a sharp-boned face, long nose, high cheekbones…a face that had become even handsomer with age.

"How're you holding up?" he asked in a low murmur, his voice husky, as she dismounted.

"Well enough," she replied, taking off her own helm to wipe the sweat from her eyes and rub the heavy perspire out of her brown hair, which, because its length had grown and she had no time to cut it, was done in a series of complicated braids that crisscrossed around her scalp. She too had a face that grew more mature with age. She would never be called striking, both he and she knew that, nor pretty, but elegant, a trait inherited from her late mother, or commanding. "The question is how are _you_ holding up? You never were much for battle," she added teasingly.

He glared at her. "I was born for war," he told her loftily. "Unlike you, you savage brute."

She snorted. "Of course, love. Ah, they're coming back." She lilted her voice to inform her conversing comrades around her. "Prepare for battle! We're under attack!"

And again the battle started. Blood everywhere; organs spilling out of gutted corpses; insane faces swinging weapons, hitting both friends and enemies alike. Arrows suddenly poured from the treetops above, raining upon uncovered heads and the tender spots between armor. Men screamed as their hearts were struck through. The lady knight cursed as a black-fletched arrow grazed her exposed shoulder, but fought on. Around her fellow knights and soldiers fastened the thin, weightless cloaks around their shoulders – cloaks spelled with magic, 'witched to protect the wearer of unmagicked arrows. It had been a magnificent invention, one thought up by the great King Jonathan – may the gods rest his soul – and brought about by the mage-warrioress Sir Alanna and Master Numair. Tortall was blessed with such grand and powerful legends…the lady knight hoped, even as she knew deep in her heart that she would, that she would become a legend as well.

"It's a cursed shame about this war," the handsome knight beside her panted cheerfully, severing an arm from a crazed Scanran. "I wanted to see my youngest Sakura before she left to try for her knighthood."

_The war will keep fathers from their daughters._

She grimaced as though in pain, trying to force that horrible voice out of her head. It was a sexless voice, although it came from the great Seer Irnai, who was now a loyal advisor to King Roald, originating from the Chamber of Ordeal. Irnai – and the Chamber – had unintentionally revealed to her many things that fateful day. What came from the beautiful young Seer's mouth was horrible and ugly, the facts and truths distressing. But the lady knight knew as well that some of those words may not be true. She prayed they mayn't.

_Hearts will shatter and courage will fail in those with pure and valiant souls._

Damn. The lady knight slashed frantically in a vain attempt to rid herself of the terrible prophecy.

_On the day of the final battle, black lightning will strike down our king, and Tortall's magnificent empire will be destroyed._

Don't think about it. We are great and indestructible…aren't we?

_Your heart-love will die in the final battle_.

I have no heart, remember? I took a vow of celibacy when I became one of the Maidens. No Maiden can be caught up in the throes of love and infatuation.

The truth was cold, and she and Irnai knew it – what if she had loved _before_ she joined the elite Queen's Maidens, a faction meant for the most powerful sorceresses and best lady warriors? The Goddess-blessed vow was to prevent any future love interests…it did nothing for life-long heartthrobs.

_The fall of Tortall is at hand_.

Her gelding shrieked in pain as he took the lance meant for her, running him through, and he died a brave death on the battlefield protecting his mistress.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and she screamed her fury as her glaive cut through armor. She was among Tortall's last chivalrous knights…it was not arrogance that led her to this realization, just honesty. The Code had been vanquished when half of Tortall's "faithful" knights rebelled and killed King Jonathan, Queen Thayet, the youngest princess – alas, the other royal children, save good Roald, had been killed in natural occurrences or assassination – and Roald and his wife Princess Shinkokami's daughter, Princess Thaysin. That was the start of Tortall's fall.

And the lady knight had a horrible gut feeling that this battle was the prophesized one Irnai spoke of. The final battle…the day of black lightning…

She snuck a watchful peek at King Roald of Conte, who fought alongside his beloved knights. He had long since discarded his helm, probably because it could not sustain the blows dealt to it. In her brief but fateful observation, she never saw the flash of silver meant for her heart. But she heard her best friend's anguished warning cry, and was at least able to sideswipe the sword. It missed her heart, but only barely; instead it plunged into her shoulder, and she let loose a scream of pain that shattered her best friend's heart.

_ …hearts will shatter…_

Another sword took the opportunity offered and thrust into her stomach, into an area where the armor had been destroyed by a previous blow earlier in the battle.

The glaive dropped from her hand. The lady knight fell.

Someone sobbed nearby and she was dimly aware of someone dropping to their knees next to her. She felt shaky hands on her body, and welcomed the unfamiliar touch. She turned her head to the raging battle around her, and saw with vague interest that more Scanrans – fresh soldiers, ready for battle, millions, billions, trillions, all new and strong – marched forward, as the old ones retreated. She could see from her position how Roald paused, staring in horror at the oncoming wave of enemies. He threw down his sword and ran, fleeing from his duty and discarding his honor.

_ …courage will fail in those with pure and valiant souls…_

She watched him run like a coward, losing his courage when he was so depended on. She did not fault him though. She faulted no one. War turned men into mice…it changed them. It changed her.

Above her, something streaked. With effort she moved her head. She saw something black and crackling flashing, zipping toward the man who let his country down. Electricity invaded his body, the impact lifting his body. Roald became engulfed in scorching blackness, and then it disappeared, and his body was on the ground, convulsing in the throes of death.

_…on the day of the final battle, black lightning will strike down our king…_

King Maggur appeared, riding a wicked-eyed stallion. He grinned an evil smile, for he knew he conquered now.

_…and Tortall's magnificent empire will be destroyed…_

She looked up into the eyes of the knight who cried for her, saw emerald fire there, and smiled. She closed her eyes and parted her lips for something she had yearned for all her life but never got. He complied willingly, for he burned for it too, laying his chapped lips on hers, tasting a love of life and copper blood and the salt of tears and sweat. Neither saw the sword that entered from behind, piercing through the knight, leaving his body, and then entering hers. The sword had plunged through their hearts, both of them, and joining them as love or sex could not, but as only death could. Breath left his body.__

_…your heart-love will die in the final battle…_

Around her Scanrans killed Tortallans, and they shamelessly outnumbered them. Her breath hitched in her throat as blood spluttered from her lips. She witnessed the dark side of mankind and wanted to weep for what all that she once admired had become. Maggur screamed his insane laughter. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, letting loose her sorrow deep from her heart. A single crystalline tear trickled down her face, and the lady knight slipped into eternal sleep.

_…the fall of Tortall is at hand…_


End file.
